


Something

by livthelion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Completely Unintentional) Angst, Apparently this is shameless smut and should be tagged as such lol so, Fuckbuddies, Human AU, Sex, Shameless Smut, Stiles is a little fucked up but Derek likes him anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livthelion/pseuds/livthelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is hunched over, lacing up his boots when someone comes up behind him and smacks him on the ass.</p><p>“Good job out there, Hale.” Stiles plops down on the bench next to him with a grin, hair still slightly damp from his post-game shower.</p><p>Derek feels his heart speeding up, knows he’s probably blushing like an idiot, but ignores all that in favor of rolling his eyes. “You should probably keep your hands to yourself,” he advises though he doesn’t actually mind. At all. He opposite of minds.</p><p>Stiles waggles his eyebrows at Derek and starts pulling on his own shoes. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from ‘Something’ by the Beatles (fave Beatles song, btw)
> 
> Don’t judge me, this is just a couple hour fic that I wrote in my spare time. There might be mistakes (feel free to point them out) and I might go back and change some things because I’m not exactly satisfied with it BOO

Derek is hunched over, lacing up his boots when someone comes up behind him and smacks him on the ass.

“Good job out there, Hale.” Stiles plops down on the bench next to him with a grin, hair still slightly damp from his post-game shower.

Derek feels his heart speeding up, knows he’s probably blushing like an idiot, but ignores all that in favor of rolling his eyes. “You should probably keep your hands to yourself,” he advises though he doesn’t actually mind. At all. He _opposite_ of minds.

Stiles waggles his eyebrows at Derek and starts pulling on his own shoes. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“We wouldn’t want your latest girlfriend- What is it, number sixty-two-?”

“Sixty-three,” Stiles corrects, gesturing at him to proceed.

Derek huffs a laugh and fishes his jacket out of his locker. “Excuse me. We wouldn’t want girlfriend number sixty- _three_ to get jealous.”

He feels a little bad about the numbers, even if they are exaggerated—slightly—but Stiles can never keep their names straight and usually ends up giving the wrong name anyways so, numbers it is.

“I’m sure she won’t mind. What’s a celebratory butt-slap between friends?” Stiles says with a sly wink. “By the way, I think that number might actually be a little low.”

“I was only counting the ones from this year,” Derek assures him.

“That explains it,” Stiles says solemnly. He goes back to fiddling with his shoe laces—he’s somehow managed to tie them into an impressive looking knot—glancing up at Derek every few seconds like he’s checking to see if he’s still there. “Do you-” he starts.

The rest of Stiles’ sentence gets lost when McCall comes scampering around the corner, screaming, “Stiles! Stiles, control your brother!” at the top of his lungs.

Jackson stalks towards them looking angry enough to spit fire. “Get your ass back here, McCall!”

“Oh, God. What now?” Stiles sighs, expression resigned like this is an everyday occurrence. It probably is.

Derek leaves while he’s distracted.

He wonders what Stiles was going to ask him.

-

Scott climbs his back like a monkey, whimpering in fear. “Stiles, save me,” he mutters frantically.

“I will end you,” Jackson hisses, moving closer to make good on that threat.

“What’d you do this time?” Stiles asks, more curious than concerned.

“Jackson is _totally_ overreacting,” Scott whines from behind Stiles because Scott is a fantastic best friend and is using Stiles as a human shield. Like _that’ll_ save him. Experience has taught them both that Jackson has no qualms about inflicting pain upon Stiles to get to Scott.

“He scratched. My car.” Jackson snarls, glaring at Scott over Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m going to _murder_ you!” He lunges for Scott, but Stiles manages to block him just in time.

“Whoa, guys, let’s not get violent! Violence is not the answer!” Stiles shouts, waving his arms around trying to protect his face and Scott (but mostly his face).

Jackson goes still, backing off like he’s considering Stiles’ words.

Stiles nods encouragingly. “Yes, that’s good. Forgiveness. Forgive and forget, I always sa-”

Jackson catches Stiles off guard, pushing him off to the side and tackling Scott to the ground.  

“It was an _accident!_ ” Scott screeches as Jackson attempts to wrap his hands around his neck.

“I’ll make your _death_ look like an accident,” Jackson promises.

Stiles sighs and looks up to tell Derek, ‘See? You see what I have to deal with?’ but he’s already disappeared.

Sneaky bastard.

He sits down on the bench at the far end of the row and sighs some more and watches Scott slap ineffectually at Jackson. Stiles has found it’s always best to give them space when they’re wrestling out their feelings.

-

Laura isn’t in the spot she usually meets Derek when he gets outside so he hangs around (he’s not thinking about Stiles, nope) and waits. It isn’t until there’s only a handful of cars left in the parking lot that he thinks to check his messages.

He digs his phone out of his jeans and sees a voicemail and four texts.

All of which inform him that Laura has already left.

Great.

He sighs and shoves his phone back in his pocket.

It’s a six mile walk home. Why would she do this to him? They’re supposed to be _sharing_ the car, for fuck’s sake.

He’s been walking for a few minutes—okay, more like a few seconds, he’s still on school property—and is already considering giving up and lying down in the grass and taking a nap (he could do it, it’d be just like camping) when Stiles’ pulls up next to him in his beat up jeep. “Your ride bail?”

Derek scowls at the ground.

Stiles grins and throws the passenger side door open.

-

The ride home is a little strange (probably because they’ve never really interacted outside of school), but comfortable.

They talk about the game, Stiles bragging proudly about how Jackson basically won the match by himself. Derek doesn’t agree; Stiles is easily better than Jackson. He thinks it’s nice that Stiles cares more about Jackson than he does his personal ego.  

“You looked pretty good out there, Hale,” Stiles teases, trying to work a blush out of him. “Been working out?”

Derek mumbles a pleased, “What? No. Well, not _really_ ,” and has to remind himself that all the over the top flirting and winks are just because Stiles enjoys getting a reaction out of him. It’s not like he actually means anything by it.

“So, tell me, is it love?” Derek asks, wanting to put Stiles on the spot for a change.

Stiles gives him a questioning look.

“Is lucky number sixty-three The One?” Derek clarifies with a smirk.

It ends up not being such a smart move because Stiles tenses up next to him. It’s subtle, but Derek is ~~completely focused on Stiles~~ observant so he sees it right off.

Stiles chuckles, the sound a little forced. “No one said anything about love.”

It’s awkward for a second, but then Stiles unsubtly changes the subject to Harris and how he has it out for him. Which, Derek has seen Harris around Stiles and it’s kind of true. Harris is an asshole in general, but when Stiles is around it gets about a billion times worse.

Stiles tells him a story, something to do with a frog that he “freed from that torture chamber they call a biology class” and how it ended up in Harris’ desk drawer “completely by accident” and when he opened it, he “screamed like a motherfucking banshee” (these are direct quotes) and then immediately blamed Stiles and gave him a month’s detention.

“Completely unfair, how he just assumed it was _me,”_ Stiles pouts.

“Yeah, it wasn’t like you actually did it or anything,” Derek says drily.

Stiles smiles sheepishly. “Well, I mean, I did, but that doesn’t mean he has to automatically blame me.”

Derek shakes his head incredulously and laughs at Stiles’ logic.

He catches Stiles staring at him and he shifts in his seat, suddenly self-conscious. “What?”

Stiles gives him a strange smile and says, “Nothing.”

They pull up to the front of Derek’s house. Derek thanks him for the ride and opens the door to leave.

Stiles grabs his arm and Derek looks back at him, startled. “Where’s my kiss goodbye?”

Stiles is watching him, eyes bright and mischievous, taunting almost. He’s clearly waiting for Derek to roll his eyes and laugh it off like he usually does, and that’s his first instinct. It is, but then Stiles puckers his lips for Derek, teasing, always teasing, and Derek wonders what Stiles would do if he just did it.

Derek darts in and presses his mouth to Stiles’.

Stiles’ lips are soft and warm and nice and Derek is going to have a hard time not imagining them wrapped around his-

No, no, no. This is not the time for inappropriate boners.

He pulls away (too soon) and schools his expression, not wanting Stiles to see how much just that, a simple closed-mouth kiss, affected him.

Stiles’ cheeks fill with color, his mouth hanging open in shock.

Derek snorts to hide his mortification. He’s opening his mouth to say, ‘it was just a joke,’ when Stiles starts laughing.

“You’ve got balls, Hale, I’ll give you that,” he gasps between giggles. He waggles his eyebrows. “I was starting to wonder.”

“I could show you, if you’re really concerned,” Derek says before he can stop himself. He nearly tacks on an offer to dig a hole and bury himself in it, but Stiles just grins, delighted.

“I might just take you up on that,” he says with a wink.

Derek laughs, hopes that Stiles won’t be able to hear the hysterical note that has crept into it. “Well, I better get going,” before I say something _really_ dumb. He pushes the door open again and flees.

“See ya later, Hale,” Stiles calls after him.

Derek gets the front door open and watches Stiles drive off.

“Night, Stiles,” he says quietly.

-

He spends most of the night replaying the kiss and the soft surprised sound that Stiles made (and not jerking off, no matter how much he’s tempted to).

-

Stiles might spend the night doing the same thing except he does jerk off because he doesn’t have that kind of restraint.

He tries not to think about what Derek meant by it. (Was it a joke, was it nothing, was it _something)_

Instead he wonders when he developed this little ~~monumental~~ crush on Derek.

It could’ve been the first time he talked to him—they were ten and Stiles was warned not to mess with Hale so of course he immediately had to mess with Hale, who had turned out to be this shy kid with angry eyebrows and a nice smile—or the first time he saw Derek without a shirt on.

That was a good day.

When he first realized he was attracted Derek, he actively avoided him until Derek’s confused frown started getting to him.

He never understood why he didn’t just try to hook up with Derek immediately. It’s what he would’ve done with anyone else. Stiles is easy, he knows it, his brother knows it, the many girls he’s slept with in the last two years know it. He doesn’t feel bad about it, there’s no shame in liking sex. And even if his girlfriends act surprised when they end up breaking up, they know what they’re getting into from the start.

The thing with Derek, though, it should’ve been simple; tell Derek he likes him, ask him if he wants to have mutual orgasms.

But he doesn’t. (It’s not because he doesn’t want Derek to be another fling. That would taste too much of _feelings_ and Stiles isn’t comfortable with those).

It takes him a week to get over his mild freak out and start flirting with Derek. He gets away with it because he has the reputation of basically hitting on anything that moves. It takes a few days for the flirting to develop into post-game (and post-practice) smacks on the ass because Stiles is a bad person and he will take advantage of every jock-cliché afforded him.  

Like he said, he’s not so good with restraint.

-

Stiles isn’t _trying_ to be a jerk, alright. He’s not like his brother, Jackson (adoptive brother, adopted? adoptive whatever! they’re both adopted) who wears his asshole-ish-ness proudly on his sleeve. Stiles has a little more tact.

Well, tact might not be the right word. Tact is something that’s never come easy to him. What he’s trying to say is that he tries to be more _discreet_ about his jerkiness. Yeah, that’s it.

He doesn’t _mean_ to snap at his girlfriend (Kara? Krystal?) in the middle of the cafeteria, but she’s been bugging him for the past two days about going to her great aunt’s wake and won’t let it go even when Stiles gives her completely legitimate reasons for not wanting to attend said wake.

First off, he’s never even met the lady and it’s kind of rude to bring a stranger to something that’s supposed to be private. (isn’t it?) Second, the Fourth Annual Whittemore-Stilinski-McCall (fucking Jackson and his need to always be first) Two-Day Horror Movie Marathon is this weekend so obviously he _couldn’t_ go even if he wanted to (which he really doesn’t) and third, wakes in general? Creepy as fuck.

Stiles does not need to see (Karla? Karen? He’s pretty sure it’s Karen) Karen’s great aunt in all her postmortem-y glory.

He says as much, but Karen still spends the day badgering him about it and Stiles ends up yelling, _“I don’t want to go, okay?!”_ It comes out kind of really loud and his voice is all high-pitched and weird and Jackson is openly laughing at him and Scott is suppressing giggles behind a closed fist and oh god, he’s pretty sure that the entire school heard him.

So, that brings him back to now when his (soon to be ex)girlfriend, Karen, is calling him a jerk and telling him just how bad a lay he is (and that is a lie, Stiles is excellent in bed) and telling him that it’s over.

Stiles isn’t that broken up about it. Of course, he can’t tell _Karen_ that, so he just apologizes again and nods meekly and says he understands while Karen gathers her things and leaves in a cloud of sickly-sweet perfume.

Stiles watches her go, hips swaying enticingly as she storms out of the cafeteria.

Ah, Karen. He hated seeing her leave, but he loved watching her go.

The break up sex (sadly not an option in their current setting) probably would’ve been awesome. He sighs mournfully at the missed opportunity.

“You okay, buddy?”

Stiles focus snaps to his best friend, who is giving him sad eyes and looking like he wants to gather Stiles up in a hug and protect him from the cruel, cruel world.

He waits until Karen is completely out of sight before he scoffs and says of course he’s okay, him and Karen weren’t even together two weeks.

Scott rolls his eyes, no longer feeling sorry for Stiles, and reminds him that her name is, “Katelyn, Stiles. Her name is Katelyn. You’d think you would know her name seeing as how you were _dating_ her-”

Stiles waves a hand around dismissively, “I was close, wasn’t I?”

Scott knocks his hand out of the way, “-And you _know_ that’s not what I meant,” because Stiles is changing the subject and pretending that his freak out was just because Karen- _Katelyn_ was being too pushy.

Stiles tries to ignore the concerned looks Scott and his brother are giving him, but neither Jackson nor Scott are very subtle. He can practically feel the concern oozing from their pores.

Jackson leans against him a little on one side and Scott quietly asks him if he’s really okay from across the table.

He does what he usually does and pretends that he is.

-

The last funeral Stiles went to was his parents’.

-

“I heard he called her a cunt and told her that her and her grandma could go fuck themselves,” his lab partner, Erica, ‘whispers’ to Isaac Lahey.

Derek snorts.

Erica and Isaac are two of the biggest gossips in school. Put them together with Lydia Martin and no one’s safe. Which is why, of course, Lydia is Isaac’s lab partner and some genius (Harris) thought it was a brilliant idea to stick them all right next to each other.

“What are you two talking about?” he asks.

Erica grins, leaning over the table to ensure that Derek can hear her—not that that was actually an issue in the first place, Erica’s idea of a whisper is a silent shriek, he just hadn’t been paying attention earlier. “Stiles broke up with Katelyn Sharp in the middle of the cafeteria.”

So, that’s her name.

Derek feels his face heating up. He just had to ask, didn’t he? “And he called her… a cunt?” he asks skeptically.

Erica nods enthusiastically.

Derek frowns. That didn’t sound like Stiles.

Lydia flounces into the room, five minutes after the bell (Harris doesn’t bat an eye) and Erica immediately starts chattering about the Stilinski/Sharp break up. Lydia ends up correcting almost all aspects of the tale (Derek is relieved to find out that no, Stiles did _not_ call Katelyn a cunt or tell her that she and her _aunt_ could go fuck themselves).

Erica is pouting when Lydia finishes recounting what really happened. “How do you just _know_ things?” Erica asks, reluctantly impressed.

Lydia tosses her hair over her shoulder and gives her a smug smile. “I have my ways,” she answers enigmatically.

Isaac and Erica look at her with a mixture of fear and admiration.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and you just happen to be good friends with Stiles’ brother, Jackson,” who likes listening to himself talk almost as much as the three of you do, Derek (wisely) doesn’t add.

Lydia sticks her tongue out at him, Erica and Isaac following suit.

Derek turns back to his textbook, smirking down at the pages.

-

Stiles passes him in the hall and pinches his ass. “Heya, hot stuff,” he says, his usual flirtatious smile in place.

Derek feels his mouth curving up of its’ own accord, but he just rolls his eyes and brushes past him.

“See you in the showers,” Stiles calls after him.

Derek waves at him without turning around. He tells his stupid heart that just because Stiles no longer has a girlfriend doesn’t mean that he wants to get with Derek. (It ignores him and continues pounding away in his chest).

He can feel Stiles’ eyes on his back all the way down the hall.

-

Stiles comes up to him after practice and opens with, “I was thinking since I’m newly available, you and I could give it a go,” and he’s probably teasing, but Derek lets himself think _maybe_.

Ah, fuck it.

“Yeah, definitely,” he says, completely serious.

The teasing light goes out of Stiles’ eyes and he licks his lips, cheeks reddening. “Right.” He grabs Derek’s hand and scribbles an address on his palm (as if everyone doesn’t already know where the Whittemores live) and says, “Meet me in twenty, yeah?”

Derek nods dumbly and stares at his hand.

Stiles gives him a wide grin and sprints for the door.

Derek wastes most of those twenty minutes staring, dazed, at the locker room door until Jackson walks by and asks him where Stiles went.

He mumbles something unintelligible and Jackson gives him a judgmental look before leaving.

-

“No marks above the collar, okay?”

Derek looks disappointed, but he goes back to nibbling his way down Stiles’ body and Stiles wants to tell him fuck it, mark me up, Scotty.

He’s about to say it, because why the fuck not, but then Derek starts mouthing at him through his jeans and, “Oh, good _god.”_

Derek’s hand slides up his side to his chest, fingers brushing over his nipple and hello, kink he never knew he had. Stiles drags Derek up for another kiss because Derek is really good at kissing (and no it doesn’t make Stiles wonder who he’s been practicing with) and tangles his fingers in Derek’s soft hair.

Stiles realizes that he would be content just making out with Derek for the rest of the night. (The thought is a foreign one and if he could actually concentrate enough to think about what that means, he’d probably be a little worried).

Derek pulls back, hands hovering over Stiles’ zipper. “Can I?”

Stiles nods—too much, probably—and tries to not stare too obviously at Derek’s lovely, red mouth. “Yeah, that’d be. Good, yeah.”

He has to bite down on his fist when Derek gets him out and immediately starts swallowing him down, nose brushing the hair at the base of his cock.

Derek pulls off his dick with a wet _pop_ , hand curled tightly around the base. “Don’t, let me hear. I wanna hear you.” He doesn’t get his mouth back on him until he agrees.

“Yeah, fuck Derek, please,” Stiles nearly begs because Derek’s _mouth_ , man. He wonders how many guys Derek choked down before he perfected his technique. (He’s not jealous. He’s _not_ ).

Derek hums around his cock and pulls off again to tell Stiles that he really likes it when he’s loud. He barely manages to get his lips back around Stiles’ before he comes.

-

He and Jackson are lounging on the couch when Jackson suddenly asks him, “What’s up with you and Hale?

“What d’you mean?” Stiles asks nonchalantly, silently hoping that he’s not blushing.

“I saw him leaving when I came home last night. What, are you guys, like, best friends now?” Jackson glares at him.

Stiles rolls his eyes, relieved, and shakes his head. “Nah, we’re just hanging out,” he ~~lies~~ says. “He’s a cool guy.”

Jackson narrows his eyes and then nods, satisfied with Stiles’ answer. “Good.”

Stiles laughs and slings an arm around his brother’s neck. “Don’t worry, Jacks. You and Scotty are my best buds for life.”

Jackson huffs and grumbles, “Yeah, yeah,” but Stiles can tell that he’s pleased.

-

When he and Jackson were thirteen, Mark and Lisa had sat them down and told them they were adopted. Jackson had cried, but Stiles had already known. If it hadn’t been for how upset Jackson had been about it, he probably would’ve laughed.

He was eight when his real parents died, he was _there._ The Whittemores were watching him like they were expecting a different reaction, like they thought he’d forgotten.

As if he could.

-

Stiles flings his bedroom door open with one hand, dragging Derek to his bed by the collar of his jacket, his mouth not leaving Derek’s the whole way. The back of his knees hit the mattress and they both tumble onto the bed, Derek straddling him. It’s difficult, getting both of their clothes off like that, but they manage.

Stiles flips them over, frantically rolling his hips against Derek’s until Derek shoves a thigh between his legs for him to grind down on. Derek always knows exactly what he needs.

They’d barely made it to Stiles’ this time. They’re not always so lucky. (There’s been a couple times they didn’t even make it to the parking lot.)

“How’re we doing this,” Stiles finally gets out because _fuck_ , he could come from just this, from just grinding against Derek’s leg and god, he might actually be okay with that. (He still hasn’t had a lot of time to think about what this is. Or maybe just he’s actively _not_ thinking about it).

“You can fuck me,” Derek says eagerly, sticking a couple fingers in his mouth and practically shoving them between his thighs.

Stiles licks his lips and swallows around his suddenly dry throat. “Yeah?” They haven’t done this yet. (It’s been hands and mouths and any available patch of skin). He watches Derek working himself open, and finds himself sliding down to get a better look and _fuck_ Derek looks tight and positively _delectable_ and Jesus, how did he go through life thinking that he wasn’t into guys because Derek is spread out on his bed, all flushed and sweating, swallowing down whimpers and moans with his hand on his cock and two fingers buried in his ass and Stiles just wants to _taste_.

Derek lets out a surprised sound when Stiles shoves his tongue in between Derek’s fingers, and Stiles is a little surprised, too, although he really shouldn’t be. Impulse control has never been his thing.

The _sounds_ Derek makes when Stiles gets a finger in him. (He has to wrap a hand around his cock to keep from coming).

He adds another one and Derek is squeezing around his fingers.

 _Jesus,_ “You’re tight,” Stiles groans.

Derek starts grinding down on them, moaning half-formed pleas. The only word Stiles can make out is _“more.”_

“Lube,” he rasps. “We’re gonna need lube. Lots of lube.”

Thank god he stocked up.

-

Derek bites down on his shoulder when he comes.

-

He doesn’t stay long afterwards. “Parents,” is all he says, like that explains everything (and what does Stiles know, it probably does). He gives Stiles another kiss—two, actually, one to his mouth and the other on his shoulder—and smiles an apology before leaving.

Stiles stays awake wondering what the fuck he’s doing.

-

Derek catches his fingers when they pass in the hall, presses a kiss to the back of his neck when there’s no one around after practice, gives him small, private smiles that no one else sees. He’d been doing little things like that for days, since they started whatever this is, but Stiles hadn’t noticed before, hadn’t let himself think too much about it.

Stiles doesn’t know what it means. (Or maybe he does, maybe he just doesn’t want to).

-

It was a car accident that killed his parents. Head on collision.

Everyone thought they both died instantly. They didn’t. Stiles was in the backseat having his first—of many—panic attack while his dad bled out in the front seat, his mother already gone.

The whole time, his dad was telling him that it would be okay (just breathe, son, just breathe) forcing out garbled sentences around mouthfuls of blood, trying to soothe Stiles while he died, while his wife sat beside him with her head bent at an unnatural angle and glass and blood surrounded them.

Stiles remembers it all.

-

“You’re acting weird,” Derek says to him a few days later, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Look, we don’t have to tell people we’re together, but-”

Stiles cuts him off, taking a few steps back and holding up his hands. “Whoa, I mean, yeah, we got off together,” like that’s all they’d done, Derek had let Stiles _fuck_ him, “but I wasn’t aware that we were, like, dating or whatever.”

Derek flinches like he’s been slapped, face growing hot while Stiles stares at him, face impassive.

He nods, unable to speak without yelling or even more humiliating, crying, and leaves.

He knew how Stiles was, why had he thought he was any different? He should probably be grateful that Stiles remembers his name.

-

Lisa tried once to get Stiles to talk about the accident once and then never tried again.

Smart woman, Lisa.

-

Stiles watches Derek shut down as the words leave his mouth.  _“I_ _wasn’t aware that we were, like, dating or whatever.”_ He doesn’t even know why he said it and if Derek had been paying closer attention, maybe he’d have thought it strange, the way Stiles is acting.

Because it _is_ strange. Stiles doesn’t have a problem going through the motions with anyone else, but _Derek_ , Derek just gets under his skin.

Maybe because with Derek it wouldn’t be just going through the motions.

-

After two days of hiding in his room—he’s not wallowing and listening to the Smiths, of course he isn’t—Laura drags him out to a party and gets him spectacularly drunk.

He goes home with a girl named Claire.

It’s unmemorable.

He thinks that next time will be better.

-

Stiles (quite literally) bumps into Derek at school. It’s awkward and Derek doesn’t look him in the eye, doesn’t apologize for nearly knocking him over. He just acts like Stiles isn’t there and continues walking with the pretty blonde girl who has her hand on his arm.

He tries not to notice the way Derek’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

-

Stiles starts dating again (if you can call it dating). He gets bored much faster than he did before.

He tries it with another guy, but it isn’t as good.

He loses interest before he even begins.

-

He hears about Derek fucking a Claire Harper a couple days later.

He doesn’t care.

He also doesn’t care when he hears about Derek fucking a Natalie Fine, and a Lyssa Hart along with a string of other girls. Nope.

Stiles _does_ start caring when Derek starts sleeping with the girls that _Stiles_ is talking to.

He didn’t think anything of it at first, but once is an incident, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern, right? (He’s not sure where he heard that, but he thinks it must be true).

Because Stiles started talking to Jessica Stanley and Derek fucked Jessica Stanley three days later.

Then he started talking to Rebecca, uh, he doesn’t actually know her last name but, point is Derek fucked her two days later.

Stiles started talking to Brittney (Matthews? Maren?) Derek fucked her the very next day. He bets if he starts talking to another girl, Derek will drag her away mid-conversation and fuck her in the school bathroom or something.

And that’s where Stiles starts having a problem.

-

“What the fuck are you doing?” Stiles snarls.

Derek is sucking face with Stiles’ latest would-be girlfriend in the middle of the hallway and that is just _not_ okay. Only because Stiles should be the one making out with (Hannah? Helen?) not because he has a problem with (Hannah? he thinks it might be Hannah) putting her dainty little hands on Derek’s ass.

Derek rolls his eyes. “I would’ve thought it was pretty obvious.” He turns back to Hannah? and leans in like he’s going to start making out with her again.

“Excuse us.” Stiles gives Hannah? a tight smile and drags Derek away by the arm. He pulls Derek into the empty locker room, swings him around so that they’re standing toe to toe.

“What the _fuck_ , man?” Stiles asks, hand still wrapped around Derek’s arm (and god, were his arms always so _big?)_.

“I love it when you manhandle me,” Derek says with a nasty smirk.

Stiles shoves him away in disgust and puts some space between them. He can’t _think_ when Derek is that close to him.

“Explain,” he grinds out.

Derek leans against a locker. “Explain what?”

“You and H-her.” Now that he thinks about it, Stiles is not actually sure her name is Hannah.

Derek shrugs. “I met a pretty girl. Thought I’d fuck her.”

Stiles glares at him because who the fuck says stuff like that.

He’s about to start chewing him out for poaching his potential dating pool, when he realizes that Derek won’t quite look him in the eye and he doesn’t know why, but it makes Stiles want to kiss him.

So he does.

Except it’s not the sweet kiss he means to give. It’s all teeth and tongue and rough hands shoving clothes out of the way and before he knows it, he’s pushing a spit-slicked finger into Derek while Derek braces himself against the lockers and grinds back onto Stiles’ hand.

“Another,” Derek says through gritted teeth.

Stiles hesitates. “I don’t think-”

“Another,” Derek snaps.

Stiles gives him another and he doesn’t even have to suck on his fingers again because god, Derek is fucking wet for him (like he wants this, he must, right? he's acting just as desperate as Stiles).

Stiles works Derek open until he says, “Enough,” shoving himself back on Stiles’ cock as soon as he lines up, like he couldn’t wait those extra seconds it would’ve taken for Stiles to push in himself.

It’s not like their first time, not even close. Derek isn’t facing him (cheeks flushed, eyes bright) and he’s not holding onto Stiles like this means something (maybe it doesn’t, maybe this is closure).

Stiles still feels better than he has in a while.

-

A week later Derek is kneeling on his bed while Stiles fucks into him from behind, so apparently that wasn’t the end of it.

Derek is whimpering towards the end, and Stiles slows, thinking that he’s been too rough. The sex is usually angry and fast, (Stiles wants to suggest that they try it like the first time, but he doesn’t because every time he tries to make it gentler, Derek snaps at him).

“Don’t stop,” Derek says, voice cracking.

Stiles nods, and then realizes that Derek can’t see him (they haven’t fucked face to face since the first time). “Okay.”

He comes before Derek does, head falling against Derek’s back as he catches his breath. He reaches around Derek’s waist and jerks him off, feeling droplets of water hit his wrist. (He tries not think that it might not be sweat).

He presses his mouth against Derek’s back.

How long are they going to do this.

-

“I’m sorry.”

Derek can’t hear Stiles’ apology because Stiles is a coward and he’ll only talk to Derek when he’s asleep.

-

Derek finds himself sleeping at Stiles’ more often than not. (Stiles gives him a key to the house and Derek tells himself it’s simply for convenience, there’s no meaning behind it.)

He wakes up one night and realizes that Stiles is talking to him.

He’s in the middle of a story about the time Jackson ran away shortly after he found out he was adopted and Stiles found him at the McCall’s, curled up with Scott.

“It was funny because up until that point, Jackson acted like he hated him, but it turned out that Jackson was just jealous because Scott was closer to me than he was with Jackson. So, I learned to share and now I’m just waiting for the day that those two idiots realize they love each other,” he finishes with a laugh.

Derek feels Stiles press his lips to the top of his head. “Night, Derek.”

Derek stays up the rest of the night, thinking.

-

Derek wakes him up before he leaves in the morning, which is unusual, but Stiles is too tired to notice. “I’m gonna head home.”

“But why?” Stiles whines because he’s half asleep and not thinking properly.

“What would the neighbors say if they saw me leaving in the same clothes I arrived in?” Derek asks, smirking.

“Fuck the neighbors,” Stiles grumbles, secretly pleased that he’s gotten a half decent response out of Derek for the first time in weeks.

“I’d rather not.”

Stiles yawns and stretches his arms over his head. “Got someone else in mind?”

Derek gives him a lingering look, mouth twitching up at the corners. “Definitely.”

-

Stiles means to stop it.

Really, he does.

He doesn’t, though, not even when Scott points out that he hasn’t had a girlfriend in nearly three months and wow, that’s kind of like a huge deal, bro.

Or when Jackson comments that he saw Derek coming out of the house, using a key to lock up after himself (Stiles had given it to him so that he could surprise Stiles with, well, surprise-sex. Best idea he ever had, by the way).

Or when Derek asks him what happened to his parents, (it was a couple weeks after Stiles gave him the key, they were in bed and exchanging life stories in hushed tones. Stiles didn’t cry, but he felt raw for a while afterwards).

Not even after he realizes that he and Derek went to dinner and a movie last night and (it was normal and kind of great) and that Derek is the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up (mostly because Derek is usually half on top of him, snoring) and that Derek is the person he wants to call whenever something happens to him.

He’s scared shitless.

-

Derek is sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for him when he gets home.

“I think it’s time we stopped this,” Derek says quietly.

Stiles freezes at the foot of the bed, pants half way off.

“Stop what?” he asks even though he already knows. It always had to end this way. He was just waiting for it. Derek would find somebody else, Derek would realize that Stiles was a life-sucking leech, Derek would finally realize that Stiles isn’t _right_.

 _“This_ , Stiles.”

Stiles nods dumbly, and fumbles his pants back on.

“Yeah, okay.”

Derek stares at him for a while. “Is that really all you have to say?”

Stiles shakes off his emotions and scrounges up a smile. (There’s a bitter twist to it, it’s not right). “The sex was good, but not good enough for me to beg,” he says, immediately wishing he could take it back. He nearly closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see that hurt expression on Derek’s face again.

But Derek isn’t hurt—at least it’s not the most predominant emotion he’s feeling at the moment—he’s angry.

“Stop that,” he snaps.

“Stop what,” Stiles doesn’t really ask.

 _“That_ ,” Derek points to his carefully blank face. “You always try to act like nothing affects you, talking so much that people think you’re an open book and most people buy it, Stiles. You’re good at selling it, the happy-go-lucky, lacrosse player with a 4.2 GPA and a bunch of notches on his belt, but I know it’s just an act.”

“Oh, do you?” Stiles asks sarcastically, grabbing his hoodie and his keys like he’s gonna take off (and why is he the one leaving when this is his house? Probably because Derek looks like he _belongs_ here, his brain unhelpfully supplies).

“Yes.”

Stiles smiles at him, amused. “And how is it you see what no one else does? What makes you special, huh?”

Derek looks at him sadly, not pitying, but like he _knows._ (Stiles almost prefers pity). “I’ve been paying attention.”

“And what?” Stiles’ smile turns ugly. He wants to stop, but he honestly doesn’t know how. “You think I care about you?”

“You do.”

“What makes you think that?” His expressions turns mocking. “Because I fucked you? I fuck a lot of people, Hale.”

“Not anymore,” Derek says, and Stiles freezes. “You haven’t been with anyone else since we started dating.”

Stiles’ face crumples. Is that what they’ve been doing? Dinner and movies and talking and sex, is that really all it takes?

“That doesn’t mean that I care,” he says, voice gone hoarse.

“You never sleep with people longer than a week or two. We’ve been doing this for months.” Derek says it so gently, like he’s afraid Stiles is going to runaway (which, admittedly, he _would_ if his damn feet weren’t stuck to the floor)

Stiles gives a weak shrug. “You have a good ass?”

“Yes,” Derek agrees. Stiles laughs. “But that’s not it though,” Derek says with growing confidence.

“How do you know,” Stiles asks the ground. It’s easier to look at than Derek.

“I just do,” Derek says exasperatedly.

Stiles shakes his head. “You’re wrong.”

Derek narrows his eyes and changes his tactic, moving closer and backing him into the wall, mouth brushing against his ear. Stiles shudders (he’s not to blame, okay. His body gets slutty whenever Derek is in his immediate vicinity).

“Just admit that you love me.”

“I don’t,” Stiles says stubbornly.

Derek chuckles in his ear (Stiles’ knees go weak), “You do.”

“No, really, I don’t,” Stiles insists, letting out a soft sigh when Derek nuzzles his neck (he only wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders because it makes more sense than letting his arms hang out awkwardly between them).

“You do. And I love you.”

Stiles’ stares at him in shock and shakes his head frantically, not wanting to accept it (Why would he say that? How _can_ he?). Derek sighs at him in exasperation and rolls his eyes and it’s so _normal_ that it startles a laugh out of Stiles.

Derek kisses him then, slow at first and then it’s not, it’s desperate and hot and Stiles’ knees are going weak, and Derek is picking him up, laying him on the bed, pulling off his clothes and flipping him over so that he can eat Stiles out until he’s a mess, mumbling that everything Derek does is perfect, _he’s_ perfect and yes, Stiles loves him, dear God, just fuck him already, _please_.

But Derek waits until Stiles is properly opened up with his fingers and his tongue (because he’s a sadist) and sinks inside of him so slow that Stiles feels like he’s going to go insane, hell, he probably _is._

Derek fucks him leisurely like they have all the time in the world, eyes never leaving Stiles’, until Stiles is blushing and rambling because Derek’s _cock_ , (he could write really awful poems about it), “Oh, okay, we’re doing this a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. Like forever. Like-”

Derek disrupts his babbling by pushing his legs up so that Stiles is practically folded in half underneath him, and fucks into him at a faster pace. The new angle is nearly too much, and soon Stiles is sobbing and clutching at the sheets, Derek’s arm, _anything_ , for dear life.

He loses it when Derek’s mouth finds his ankle, eyes rolling up into his head as he comes, jizz shooting up and hitting Derek in the eye.

Derek is laughing when he comes.

-

“I’m sorry.”

Derek eyes him judgmentally (how he can manage that with Stiles’ spunk in his eyelashes is beyond him). “Yeah, you are.”

Stiles smacks him on the chest. “I’m being serious, here. I treated you like-” he shakes his head. He’s so fucked up. “I’m sorry. Why would you even stay with me this long?”

“Probably because you have a good ass,” Derek parrots.

Stiles groans and covers his face with his hands, ashamed. “I can’t believe I said that.”

Derek reaches over and gropes at his ass. “You’ll just have to find _some_ way to make it up to me,” he sighs, put upon. “Some very, very creative ways.”

A grin creeps across Stiles’ face. “I think I can probably handle that.”

“Good.” Derek kisses the tip of his nose. “Now that you’re done being a punk bitch about your feelings, can we get back to cuddling?” (Stiles doesn’t bother denying that he was being a punk bitch ‘cause he kinda really was.)

They get back to cuddling.

-

They get woken up a little over an hour later by the door being flung open. (He probably should have locked that, huh).

“See, I told you they were fucking,” Jackson says triumphantly.

Stiles spends the rest of the morning trying to calm down a traumatized Scott while Jackson and Derek snicker in the corner.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t really get into it because I didn’t have very much time, but Stiles’ issues with his feelings mostly have to do with losing his parents and getting adopted by people that aren’t exactly the warmest (Jackson’s folks always seem a little cold to me, idk why)
> 
> Please take this as a peace offering. I’ll finish my other fics, I promise. Just bear with me, I’m in the middle of moving four hundred miles away (not very far, but I’ve been packing and shit)
> 
> [tumblr](http://livthelion.tumblr.com)


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